longing for her; indeed she seemed hardly cognizant of her existence; but this attitude might be a forced one. She thought, “I didn’t want her, the darling, and so she just made herself put me out of her life.” Angela was well aware of the pluck, the indomitableness that lay beneath Jinny’s babyish exterior, but there was a still deeper stratum of tenderness and love and loyalty which was the real Virginia. To this Angela would make her appeal; she would acknowledge her foolishness, her selfishness; she would bare her heart and crave her sister’s forgiveness. And then they would live together, Jinny and she and Sara Penton if need be; what a joke it would all be on Sara! And once again she would know the bliss and happiness of a home and the stabilities of friendships culled from a certain definite class of people, not friendships resulting from mere chance. There would be blessed Sunday mornings and breakfasts, long walks; lovely evenings in the autumn to be filled with reminiscences drawn from these days of separation. How Virginia would open her eyes at her tales of Paulette and Martha! She would never mention Roger. And as for colour; when it seemed best to be coloured she would be coloured; when it was best to be white she would be that. The main thing was, she would know once more the joys of ordinary living, home, companionship, loyalty, security, the bliss of possessing and being possessed. And to think it was all possible and waiting for her; it was only a matter of a few hours, a few miles.

A great sense of peace, of exaltation descended upon her. Almost she could have said: “I will arise and go unto my father.”


On Sunday accordingly she betook herself to her sister’s apartment in 139th Street. Miss Penton, she thought, would be out; she had gathered from the girls’ conversation many pointed references to Sara’s great fondness, of late, for church, exceeded only by her interest in the choir. This interest in the choir was ardently encouraged by a member of that body who occasionally walked home with Sara in order more fully to discuss the art of music. Virginia no longer went to church; Sunday had become her “pickup day,” the one period in the week which she devoted to her correspondence, her clothes and to such mysterious rites of beautifying and revitalizing as lay back of her healthy, blooming exquisiteness. This would be the first time in many months that the sisters would have been alone together and it was with high hopes that Angela, mounting the brownstone steps and ringing the bell, asked for Virginia.

Her sister was in, but so was Sara, so was a third girl, a Miss Louise Andrews. The room was full of the atmosphere of the lightness, of the badinage, of the laughter which belong to the condition either of youth or of extreme happiness. In the middle of the room stood a large trunk from whose yawning interior Jinny lifted a glowing, smiling face. Angela was almost startled at the bright ecstasy which radiated from it. Sara Penton was engaged rather negligently in folding clothes; Miss Andrews perched in magnificent ease on the daybed, struck an occasional tune from a ukelele and issued commands which nobody heeded.

“Hello,” said Virginia carelessly. “Can you get in? I was thinking of writing to you.”

“Oh,” Angela’s hopes fluttered, fell, perished. “You’re not going away?” Her heart echoed Jinny’s old cry: “And leave me⁠—when I’m all ready to come back to you, when I need you so terribly!”

But of all this Virginia was, of course, unaware. “Nothing different,” she said briskly. “I’m going away this very afternoon to Philadelphia, Merion, points south and west, going to stay with Eda Brown.”

Angela was aghast. “I wanted to see you about something rather important, Virginia⁠—at least,” she added humbly, “important to me.” Rather impatiently she glanced at the two girls hoping they would take the hint and leave them, but they had not even heard her, so engrossed were they in discussing the relative merits of one- and two-piece sports clothes.

Her sister was kind but not curious. “Unless it’s got something to do with your soul’s salvation I’m afraid it’ll have to wait a bit,” she said gaily. “I’m getting a two o’clock train and I must finish this trunk⁠—Sara’s such a poor packer or I’d leave it for her. As it is she’s going to send it after me. Aren’t you, darling?” Already Angela’s request was forgotten. “After I finish this,” the gay voice went on, “I’ve got some phoning to do and⁠—oh a million things.”

“Let me help you,” said Angela suddenly inspired, “then we’ll call a taxi and we can go down to the station together and we’ll have a long talk so I can explain things.”

Virginia was only half-attentive. “Miss Mory wants to go to the station with me,” she said throwing a droll look at her friends. “Shall I take her along?” She vanished into the bedroom, Louise Andrews at her heels, both of them overwhelmed with laughter bubbling from some secret spring.

Cut and humiliated, Angela stood silent. Sara Penton who had been looking after the vanishing figures turned and caught her expression. “Don’t mind her craziness. She’s not responsible today.”

She came closer. “For heaven’s sake don’t let on I told you; she’s engaged.”

This was news. “Engaged? To whom?”

“Oh somebody she’s always been crazy about.” The inevitable phrase followed: “You wouldn’t know who he was.”

Not know who he was, not know Matthew! She began to say “Why I knew him before Virginia,” but remembering her role, a stupid and silly one now, caught herself, stood expectantly.

“So you see,” Sara went on mysteriously, one eye on the bedroom, “you mustn’t insist on going to the station with her; he’s going to take her down.”

“Why, is he here?”

“Came yesterday. We’ve been threatening all morning to butt in. That’s the reason she spoke as she did about your going down. She

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